Until The Light Fades
by BeyondWinter
Summary: The year is 1944. As the mammalian world spirals deeper into global conflict, the Zootopian powers must act swiftly to change the tides of warfare. With clear battle lines drawn, they too shall know the costs of war.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

As many of you already know, this project will be focused around depicting Zootopia during the height of the second world war. I've been toying around with this idea for many months now, and have only found the inspiration to write it as of recent.

This story will make use of several historical events, as well as small elements—as they pertain to the setting—from popular culture. However, the plot remains exclusively my own. I do apologize if I make intermittent factual errors, and will attempt to keep these to a minimum.

If this project interests you, consider leaving a comment below and following this story for future updates. I am always open to PM, and would love to hear your suggestions and feedback. Without further adieu, enjoy!

*I retain no ownership over the characters and intellectual property of Walt Disney Pictures*

* * *

_Chapter I_

June 6, 1944

0530

Skies off of Normandy

—_Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the valley of Death, rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. Into the valley of Death rode the six hundred.—_

The young jackrabbit kept repeating these words to himself. He clutched the aluminum seat between his legs, his crystal blue eyes watering as icy air whipped through the belly of his airborne C-47.

The noise of the tropospheric winds blasting against him were only matched by the mind-numbing roar of the Twin Pratt & Whitney engines beside him. Nevertheless, his abnormally large ears, which stuck up around the mesh netting of his helmet, focused keenly on every word emanating from the cockpit.

The pilots, one Eurasion lynx and a smaller arctic vixen, hunched over their respective control panels, occasionally dialing back and adjusting airspeed to maintain formation with the surrounding skytrains. They pressed onward blindly, their eyes fixated on the hazy aircraft directly to the front of them.

"_Flight leader to formation.-" _The onboard radio crackled through their headphones._ "Norman coast is rapidly approaching. descend to altitude of 5,000 feet and hold current heading at 170 knots."_

The C-47 shuddered and moaned as the vixen gently nudged the yoke forward, dipping her nose down through the clouds. In response, the lynx recorded the adjustment in the flight log, cringing noticeably from the noises made by the stressed airframe.

The jackrabbit —known by his unit as Captain Jack Savage— held himself anxiously to the doorway as the plane leveled itself. He peered downward into the abyss, just barely making out the small elliptic carriers against the black waters of the channel. The vixen flying the aircraft —a steely-nerved Airwoman named Skye Winter— similarly looked down through the cockpit, carefully strafing the sea with her eyes; all the while hoping to catch a glimpse of the vast allied fleet below.

Both vixen and jackrabbit alike found some solace in knowing their fellow Zootopians were on those vessels watching; praying as they charged headlong into the unknown. They were, truly, the tip of the sword.

As they pressed on, a cloudy veil again began to consume the formation. Soon, the world beneath had all but faded between the dark wisps of floating moisture.

Jack let his neck back, resting his head gently against the cold, corrugated metal interior of the fuselage. He exhaled, and tilted his gaze back to the open doorway, his vision narrowing on the lead aircraft. By then, it was just a mere speck on the horizon as it thundered ahead; triumphantly leading the allied calvary into war.

He looked back to his lap, carefully checking the ticking radium dials on his A-11 wristwatch. A whole fifteen minutes 'till drop. Fifteen minutes to live or die. Jack shuddered at the pervasive thought. He tried to ignore the nagging dread in his gut, hoping that the drumming of the radial engines might promptly drown out out any doubts in his mind. As he sat in contemplation, he tried to find warmth in the one person that had never failed him. Slowly, the captain closed his eyes, and with thoughts of 'her', gradually let himself drift away.

* * *

September 3, 1943

1400

Fort Stagg, Zootopia

A gentle breeze swept across the bustling concrete tarmac at Fort Stagg, carrying with it the collective voices of hundreds of drilling paratroopers from around the base. The area, which at one time had been nothing more than a barren dirt plateau outside of Bunnyburrow, had transformed almost overnight into Zootopia's premier aerial-jump school. Tasked with training the world's most capable and audacious airborne assault force, Stagg was as revered for its top of the line instruction and academic rigor, as it was infamous for its washout rate.

In the immediate wake of Zootopia's declaration of war, Jack Savage signed the dotted line for the 101st Airborne before the recruiter could even open his mouth to describe it. Investing himself wholesale into his basic training, the jackrabbit proved to be a formidable asset, quickly impressing his superiors with a natural aptitude towards leadership, cunning, and focus. Per their subsequent recommendations, Jack rose quickly through the ranks, achieving officer status when he attained the rank of Captain in early 1943.

At this rank, the young captain assumed new command over a company of sixty individuals, which he would train in everything from folding bed sheets into square corners, to jumping out of an airplane. Whatever it was, Jack was there instructing, scolding, and praising his men in all that they did.

This Friday was no different. After completing several flawless aerial drops with his company, and in addition to their relative success in training for the week, Jack granted each member a weekend pass they could use to leave base and enjoy a civilian lifestyle.

As his men dispersed, laughing, smiling, and letting their formalities fade for the weekend, the jackrabbit turned to walk down the open tarmac. He trekked along the concrete, eyes aimed skyward as a formation of five C-47's passed gracefully overhead. his admirations for them were suddenly interrupted when his ears perked to a loud bang, much like a gunshot emanating from one of the aircraft hangars next to him. This was followed by a series of loud metal clanks, and then a verbal tirade containing all manner of expletives.

Jack tilted his head slightly and approached the large entrance to the hangar cautiously, careful as to not to announce his presence to whoever might be inside. Stepping closer, he could make out the dark contour of a parked C-47 as well as a fixed maintenance lift extended beneath one wing.

A small figure appeared to be perched on that maintenance lift, working on the rivets binding one of two .50 caliber browning machine guns to the underside of the wing.

Wait. what?

Jack was perplexed. Who the hell had the bright idea of tacking guns onto a troop transporter? He grunted, walking to the foot of the lift and tapping his foot impatiently as the figure worked on the plane. "Ahem."

The figure above, evidently surprised by his sudden presence, sat up fast, knocking their head on the underside of the wing.

"Gah! Shit!" A clearly feminine voice yelped out. "Who's down there?"

Jack was confused before, but now he was completely baffled. He was NOT expecting a woman up there. "Captain Savage, Fox Company 101st Airborne. Lower yourself from the lift please."

The figure shuffled around for a moment on the lift before peeking her head below the safety railing to meet Jack's gaze. He gulped hard when her eyes crossed his; a gorgeous shade of crystalline blue belonging to a young arctic vixen, whose elegant white fur was smudged with shades of black engine grease. "Oh? What seems to be the problem Captain?" she spoke through a lighthearted grin.

The jackrabbit just stood there for a moment, dumbfounded at what he was seeing. He had spent well over a year walking every inch of airstrip, hangar, and barracks at Fort Stagg, and not once had he ever stumbled across a female—let alone a beautiful vixen, mind you.

"What? Fox got your tongue?" She snickered a bit, punching a yellow button that slowly lowered the lift down to his level. She leaned forward on the railing, enjoying and savoring every facial detail of his noticeable shock. "Don't tell me you brought me all the way down here for nothing now, Mr. Savage." the vixen smirked. She was used to catching sideways glances from the men on base, which never fazed her in the slightest.

Jack regained control of his senses, ears raising as the words finally caught up with him. "T-that is no way to speak to an officer miss!" His voice cracked. "That C-47 Skytrain you've gone and defiled is property of Zootopia's 101st airborne division. It is not your toy."

The vixen just nodded along with all of this, watching the captain with amusement as though he were speaking completely different language. "Oh how clumsy of me. I must've forgotten to introduce myself." She grinned, extending a greasy paw in his direction. "First Lieutenant Airwoman Skylar Winter, Fox Company 101st Flight Division. This 'toy' of mine is my aircraft."

The jackrabbit fell completely silent, prompting a victorious smile from the pilot next to him.

Great. Not only was she an officer like him, but this was also her goddamn bird. Now he looked like nothing more than a pompous fool. He sighed, obviously embarrassed by the premature assumptions he had made about this vixen. "I uh... you'll have to forgive me Lieutenant Winter. I was simply concerned over the welfare of the aircraft. I... I truly hope I haven't offended you."

"There's none taken, Jack. I will be the first person to admit that the idea of attaching machine guns to my plane is certainly an unorthodox one." She dropped nimbly from the lift, wiping some of the grease from her paws onto her trousers. "And please, skip the formalities. Call me Skye."

Jack chuckled nervously, rubbing his neck. "Skye. Right."

She rubbed the black smudges from her cheekbones with a small white rag, tail swaying fluidly as she eyed the Jackrabbit with a certain curiosity. "here." She offered the rag to him. He lifted an eyebrow at this, unsure exactly what she expected of him. "What for?" He asked confusedly.

"For your face. what else?" She responded shortly.

It took Jack a moment to understand what she was referring to. "Oh. Those stripes are permanent." He brushed the sides of his cheeks, showing that the black lines wrapping around them were indeed fur.

"Really..?" Her eyes stared at him with fondness. "I've never seen a rabbit with those markings before."

He shrugged. "Neither have I."

"Huh..." Skye tucked the rag away in her coverall pocket, and crossed her arms. "Well, I like them."

At these words, Jack's ears shot skyward, serving as beacons to his embarrassment and surprise which made the vixen chuckle. It certainly wasn't the reaction he was expecting. His facial stripes often earned him little more than ridicule while he was growing up. They were after all... unnatural.

"S-So." He interjected quickly, eager to change the subject. "Would you mind explaining to me what a pilot is doing working on her own airplane? Especially when that pilot has an able-bodied air maintenance crew available around the clock?"

"Pfft." Skye snorted. "You really think my crew chief would let me punch guns into this thing if they were here?" She laughed a bit, shaking her head. "No, no. Absolutely not. But I'll probably take them off anyway before our next flight. I suppose I just enjoy pushing certain boundaries where I find them."

The jackrabbit smiled a bit. "I'm sure your superiors are loving that."

"Very funny." She rolled her eyes. "But a vixen's gonna do what a vixen's gonna do." Skye's ears perked gently, her tail continuing to sway behind her.

"Which actually reminds me." She tilted her head down a bit, eyes still fixed on the rabbit in front of her. "I was planning on heading to Bunnyburrow tonight to catch a movie with some girlfriends of mine; all flight-nurses. But it turns out they're gonna be holed up in the med bay this evening running vaccinations on the new boys coming in... So... What do you say captain? Would you be available to escort a lonely vixen to the cinema tonight?" She smirked softly, and Jack could've swore she was biting her lip.

He gulped, a shaky smile forming on his lips as he nodded affirmatively to the question. "A-absolutely Skye. I'd love to." He knew full well he shouldn't be agreeing to this. After all, he was slated to help process that same shipment of boys early the next morning. But he didn't care.

Skye grinned wide, her ears perked fully atop her head. "Great. Meet me back here at 1900 then." The vixen rotated her helps slowly, her long tail brushing along his ankles before she began walking out of the hangar and into the light. "I'll see you around, Jack Savage~"

(End Flashback)

* * *

A bright flash. Then two more. Jack sat up in his seat, blinking his eyes. The clouds in front of them were towering monoliths, stretching for thousands of meters above and below the formation. Another flash, this one from deep inside the giant.

In the cockpit, Skye observed the flashes in terrified bewilderment. She turned her head to the lynx co-pilot with flattened ears, then to the skies ahead of them, watching as the lead aircraft disappeared into the mist. Another flash pervaded the darkness.

One plane after the other, the formation drifted into the clouds, into total oblivion.

As they approached, the standing radio silence shattered without warning, completely erupting into garbled chaos. Skye and her co-pilot looked at each other in terror, unsure what to make of the situation but too late to break from formation.

The vixen turned her gaze back to Jack, their eyes connecting if only for a moment, but speaking volumes of the brittle unease between them.

The dark clouds were upon them now, and the C-47 began to tremble violently from the sudden pressure difference as they descended into it.

The paratroopers raised and dipped against their seats as the plane hit massive updrafts, some of which threatened to roll the aircraft ninety degrees off center. Skye wrestled the controls with all her might, her muscles strained to keep their course steady on the drop zone.

—_Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them, Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of hell Rode the six hundred.—_

The sky opened up. Breaking out of cloud cover, billions of green tracer rounds bounced up around the formation, filling the sky with so much flak you could step out and walk on it. Everywhere, the air raged with explosive bursts, radio chatter, and the steady roaring of more than 1,000 C-47's en-route to drop.

To the left and right, above and below, planes were dropping from the sky in flaming glory, spiraling through the air helplessly and breaking apart before slamming into the fields below.

White parachutes began filling the sky amongst the tracers, first in the dozens, then hundreds, then thousands. The airspace was becoming so cluttered that any C-47 not currently being blasted apart by German 88's was probably chopping up some poor paratrooper on his way down.

Skye immediately hit a switch on her motherboard, illuminating a bright red light in the forward portion of the cabin.

Jack nodded at the prep light and fastened his mesh helmet to his head. He clutched his safety tether as he stood, and faced the 27 other paratroopers. "Get Ready!" He shouted over the top of his lungs, holding his paws outstretched so all could see. "Stand up!" With a large upward motion of his paws, he commanded everyone up in unison, all holding nervously to their safety tethers as they did so. "Equipment check!" He tapped his shoulders with both paws expressively, watching and waiting as everyone in the plane numbered off from 28 to 1.

Suddenly, an explosion dipped and rocked the plane hard to the side, tossing several guys up against the aircraft wall, and Jack nearly out of the open cabin door.

"Extinguishers extinguishers!" Skye screamed at the top of her lungs, followed by an even louder creaking and hissing noise that rushed along the airframe. Her co-pilot quickly doused engine three, but not before the stricken propeller blade had sheared off, blasting through the tail section of the aircraft and taking several paratroopers with it.

The C-47 shuddered and buckled as it fell through the air, only levelling out when the fox threw the remaining engines into full thrust.

Green tracer rounds poured in from all directions, all intent on destroying the low flying transporter so long as it remained at altitude.

"Skye!" Jack shouted frantically into the cockpit. "If we get any lower we aren't gonna need any parachutes!"

"I'm working on it goddammit!" The vixen shouted in retort. She pressed the throttle forward further, hoping to generate as much lift as possible out of their current altitude. The lynx co-pilot looked on in horror. "You need to slow down!"

"We need more altitude!" The fox growled

"But they can't jump at this speed!-" The words barely left his lips as flak exploded next to the cockpit window, shrapnel obliterating the feline's skull like a cracked watermelon. He slumped over his control panels, lifeless.

Skye wiped her eyes, frozen in shock. "Fuck! Oh God!" She reached back for the motherboard and flipped the jump switch above her, flooding the cabin with a bright green light.

Jack turned to the paratroopers behind him and unclipped his safety tether. "Let's go!"

He braced himself against the doorframe with both arms, looked down, and kicked off the fuselage into the void. The smoldering C-47 continued onward above him, the familiar sound of its engines growing faint against the wind as he fell. He pulled his ripcord and deployed the chute canopy, which jerked him roughly as he decelerated.

Around him, many thousands of his Zootopian brothers drifted earthbound. Whether they were alive, dead, or in between was not of immediate concern to him. Without Skye, he was falling alone into the war. All he could care for was that she made it back across the channel. But as her plane descended further and further to the horizon, these hopes dwindled. In the far distance, the airframe slowed, dipped beneath the trees, and ignited into a ball of fire.

Caught up in his stupor, Jack completely forewent his training to brake the chute and brace his knees before landing, hitting the hard ground with a bone shattering 'thud'. The air in his lungs left him as he collapsed violently into the dirt; the canopy falling down over him into a crumpled heap. For a moment he was completely still, and almost unwilling to leave the relative protection underneath the fabric. He waited, listening intently as the roar of the overhead invasion subsided gently into the night; gone nearly as quickly as it had come. He crawled out from under the canopy, unclipping his chute and packing it before tucking himself low beneath some tall grass and scanning the area.

"Great." He was completely alone. Everyone had been scattered to hell in the drop.

He remained concealed in the brush for some time without much more than the smoldering of aircraft wreckage and distant German 88' fire for sound. Slowly he pulled his field blanket over his head, and using his flashlight, checked his compass with the navigational map.

"Cherbourg… Utah… Caen…" He muttered quietly, trying to plot his position with the flight path of the 101st airborne. He shut the light off, and quickly repacked his blanket.

After some brief internal deliberation, he decided the best possible chance of locating Skye's downed aircraft would be to search the short gap between the projected landing site and Utah beach. Hopefully he could regroup with allied troops along the way, because after that drop he knew one thing for certain. The enemy was numerous, and they were ready to fight.

Therefore, whatever chance he had for locating his partner relied almost entirely on the distraction from the amphibious invasion. Whatever those souls were planning to do, he hoped they did it fast.

Jack checked his compass one last time against the moonlight, loaded a clip into his M1-carbine, and began to run.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

Happy 2020 everyone, I hope you're all off to a great start this year.

This update has been just over a month in the making. During that period, I spent many hours researching the operation this chapter is based on, all intent on providing an accurate glimpse into the chaos of it all. Inspiration is drawn from Saving Private Ryan, so kudos to you if you can catch all the references.

As always, please follow, favorite, and leave a review if you would like to see more updates from me in the future!

Enjoy!

*I retain no ownership over the characters and intellectual property of Walt Disney Pictures*

* * *

_Chapter II_

June 6, 1944

0630

Dog Green Sector, Omaha Beach

Water curled over the steel walls of the landing craft as it smashed through the pounding dark waves of the channel. Each cyclical motion of the LCVP against the surf sent stinging wisps of oceanic spray lifting into the air alongside the hull, which arched right back onto the steely-eyed soldiers inside. They all stared ahead, eyes strained to catch a glimpse of the target over the leading edge of the vessel. None of them say a word.

A piercing blast shattered the monotonous noise of the droning engines, raining down a chilling torrent upon the shivering men hunched helplessly in the lead LCVP's belly.

Dripping relentlessly from head to tail, PFC. Nicholas Wilde struggled to keep his footing amid the violently shifting vessel. He clung nauseously to his rifle, hugging it close to his body as he focused on orienting himself towards the shoreline. Thirty soldiers stood huddled to the front of him, each one just as tense as he was. Beside him was his friend, a significantly shorter fennec fox named Finnick. He grappled his M1A1 Thompson, silently cursing his miniature stature as he jostled between the larger mammals with each bump against the sea.

Looming in the shadow of the massive steel ramp near the LCVP's bow section, a large boar surveyed the apprehensive men before him. He was a battle-hardened officer, respected by his men as a member of the "old breed". His black hide shimmered against his grey/green field dungarees, the threads of which threatened to buckle under the stress of his massive size.

He treaded back and forth against the plated floor of the landing craft, letting his commanding gaze wander over the individuals in the first row. One of them, a young Zebra, averted his eyes as to hide his lingering fear. The boar frowned at this, extending his hoof towards the private and promptly striking a match against the front of his helmet. The fluttering firelight danced across the boar's dark eyes as he lit a cigar, his captain's bars gleaming. The zebra reluctantly met his look as the officer took a long drag, letting the smoke smolder out of both nostrils. The captain smiled.

"You scared son?" He spoke in a gruff tone.

The zebra gulped, writhing his hooves nervously against his rifle as he debated how to respond to the Boar's rhetorical question. He couldn't process anything, and his terror spoke for him. "Captain? Are we all going to die?"

The boar snorted. "Hell no. two-thirds tops."

"Oh God..." The zebra returned his eyes to the floor.

Another resounding blast erupted beside the landing craft, triggering an instinctive duck from all soldiers on board; save the captain.

"Listen up and listen well!" the boar bellowed over the sea. "I want you all to look at the man on your left, and then the man on your right. Feel sorry for those sons of bitches, because they're going to get it. You're gonna make it through without a scratch." He grinned, drawing another breath from his cigar.

This elicited a small chuckle amongst a few soldiers, but most of them were too pulverized by fear to register the humor.

Nick glanced down to his counterpart, pushing his helmet back slightly as his emerald eyes connected with Finnick's. They both said nothing, silently studying the other as their vessel drew steadily nearer to the occupied coast.

The continual humming of the engines began to falter as the coxswain leveled off the throttle, his voice shaking as he shouted to the soldiers in front. "Thirty seconds! Get ready!"

The captain promptly slung his rifle out of the way and tossed the spent cigar into the channel. "This is it everyone! Keep your heads down and your tails frosty. Stay clear of open areas and don't spend ammo until you reach the defilade. Is that understood?"

No one responded. The few mammals who weren't already praying for their lives were either preoccupied weeping in a corner or vomiting from the nerve.

Another concussive blast ripped through the air, followed immediately this time by a magnificent orange and red flash against the dark water. Nick, Finnick, and the other soldiers quickly clamored to the wall of the landing craft and peered cautiously over the edge in the direction of the spectacle. Another LCVP had suffered a direct hit from an enemy mortar. No survivors. All that remained was the flaming wreckage foundering in the surf.

"No no this isn't right!" One of the soldiers cried out as the boat approached the sands. "Where's the defilade?! No shingles, no wall, no shell hole, no cover! Nothing! We're gonna be completely exposed out there!"

Nick swiveled his head, directing his line of sight towards the beach. What he saw haunted him.

It was all true. The sands were virtually unscathed. Without cover, their sector would be no more than a vast unobstructed killing field stretching almost three hundred yards from water to hillside.

Panic began bleeding from man to man at lightning speed, with confusion and terror nearly infecting the entire landing craft before it crested the shore. The steel underbelly of the LCVP groaned as it scraped against the sand, lurching to a grinding halt and tossing soldiers against each other. Immediately the mechanical whirring of cables unwinding filled the landing craft as the forward ramp descended, gradually exposing everyone inside to the smoldering expanse in front of them.

This was the signal the Germans atop the bluff had been waiting for.

In that moment, two machine guns opened up on the craft, concentrating their fire on the opening of the vessel. Six mammals were instantly cut down where they stood, ripped to pieces before the ramp had even settled against the sand. A literal hailstorm of bullets snapped and whizzed off the metal walls, smashing into their fleshy targets with lethal and unrelenting fury.

"Over the sides!" The boar roared out in a frenzy. "Over the sides goddammit! Move!"

Those who had survived the initial onslaught dashed for the walls of the craft, climbing and leaping from the edge into the tide below.

Next to Nick, a tall fallow deer gasped as he took three tracer rounds in rapid succession, the tremendous force spinning his lifeless torso 180 degrees as it collapsed down over him. The fox let out on audible yelp as he found himself pinned against the floor of the stricken vessel, which had been swamped with seawater and the crimson remains of his platoon.

"Finnick!" He called out against the hellfire, hoping for some response. But there was none. Completely helpless to return fire or flee, Nick could only lay still and pray that he didn't get hit. More bullets pinged through the interior of the LCVP, raking over the numerous dead with loud sickening thumps.

Beside him he could hear the noise of another landing craft approaching, its' ramp cables already whirring. Far above the beach, the enemy turrets on the bluff veered left towards the arriving soldiers, quickly resuming fire upon these abundant new targets. This was the chance the fox needed. Using all four limbs and pushing with all his might, he slid the dead fallow deer from his body and slinked out from beneath it. Nick left his firearm behind, unwilling to turn back for it as he crawled up the metal wall, mounted the lip of the LCVP, and rolled over the side.

The water below was dark. Nick's entire body instantly submerged under it, carried down by the immense weight of his waterlogged equipment. His paws struggled to release the ties binding his heavy haversack to him, and his fingers worked frantically as each second ticked away. But as the knots failed to budge, he began tearing at the straps violently, survival instincts and panic kicking in as the oxygen in his lungs depleted. He grappled at the water around him, kicking at the ocean beneath in an exhaustive attempt to reach the surface, all to no avail. Nick settled on the sandy floor beneath, lungs searing and vision hazy as he began to falter from fatigue. The dark waters grew steadily darker around him as light from the surface faded, and his conscience descended into nothingness. He gazed upward, almost completely resigned to his fate as a blurred figure drifted gradually into view.

It was Finnick. He was diving, field-knife clenched between his teeth as he approached. With an extended paw, he dropped the blade from his jaws before cutting the tangled haversack loose with a swift motion of his arm. It fell against the seafloor with a murky bump, immediately releasing the fox from the confines of a watery grave. Nick braced his legs, and with every remaining ounce of oxygen in his system, ascended with his companion from the sand beneath.

Thick, white plumes of smoke poured across the beachhead as the two vulpines broke from the depths. Fatigued from their battle against the sea, they both lumbered cautiously through the rising tide, seeking momentary refuge behind a floating wooden beam.

Edging his gaze just over the log's helm, Nick could get a clear view of the expanse in front of him. The stretch was unforgiving. flanked by three concrete bunkers perched atop the bluffs in the distance, practically every inch of beach was exposed to enemy fire.

Already the shoreline was littered with countless Zootopian dead. Many soldiers cut down by machine gun fire drifted motionless in the surf, bobbing lifelessly against the numerous moored landing craft. The lucky few who persisted were scattered and stranded throughout the sector, unable to fire a single shot in retort against the German guns berating them.

Just beyond his reach, a dark mass of mangled fur, blood, and spilled entrails ran down the beach. The carcass had been ripped mercilessly from muzzle to tail by machine gun fire, strewing bits of equipment in a large radius around the smoldering remains. Upside down and riddled with bullet holes, a faded green helmet lay amongst the carnage, its captain's bars gleaming.

The fox stared at the helmet markings in horror. "Do... Do you think..?"

"I don't know Nick." Finnick sighed, averting his gaze from grisly scene. "I don't want to know."

From across the sand, a brisk voice broke through the chaos. "Hey! Who are you guys?"

The foxes swiveled their heads, ears raised as their attention settled on a raccoon and bobcat crammed narrowly behind a metal tank trap. "Able company 116th Infantry!" Nick shouted back in their direction.

The two soldiers exchanged surprised glances with each other. "Damn, you guys are not where you're supposed to be!" The raccoon exclaimed. "Charlie Company, 2nd Ranger Battalion. Where's your CO?"

"Wasted." Finnick replied curtly. "Yours?"

The raccoon shook his head. "No idea."

Nick grimaced, poking his head back over the log. "The landing's gone to hell! What's our plan of action?"

The bobcat leaned cautiously out from behind the tank trap and pointed towards a hazy pocket of smoldering beach. "The sea wall is over that way! It's the only real defilade we have between us and the almighty."

"Are you nuts?!" Finnick cried out. "They'll tear us apart if we go out there!"

"We need to make room for the others! Besides, every inch of this beach has been pre-sighted!" The ranger replied. "It's only a matter of time until one of those MG's picks up our position and lays into us. Personally, I'd rather take my chances on the break for it. So are you two with us?"

"Yeah, we're with you!" Nick replied quickly before his companion could object, prompting an infuriated look from the fennec.

"Perfect! The more the merrier!" The two rangers brandished their rifles, rising from their hunched stature to a readied stance as they prepared to break from their cover. "Gather your gear fellas! Once you're out there, don't stop for anything!"

Finnick simply glowered. "You're a fucking idiot Slick, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Let's move!" The soldiers filed out from the tank trap, flanking each other as they dashed for the seawall. Shortly behind them, Finnick and Nick lugged themselves hastily over the log; the bloody water splashing up around their ankles as they advanced inland. In only seconds a hailstorm of enemy gunfire began to strafe past them, zipping in their direction like a swarm of furious hornets. The bullets traveled with such velocity that upon striking the beach, the sand would burst six feet into the air, peppering the men as they zigzagged across the open landscape.

Ducked as low as his body would allow, Nick weaved between the corpses of his company as he evaded the machine gun, his wet fur bristling as the rounds whizzed by. His mind reduced to primal instinct as adrenaline coursed through his veins. His heart pounded mercilessly, with the blood flowing so loud in his ears it threatened to drown out the ambient warfare entirely.

A piercing shriek snapped the fox from his daze, his ears on high alert as the raccoon collapsed into the sand. He rolled over, gasping and clutching his throat with both paws as dark arterial liquid drained out between his fingers.

"Shaun!" The bobcat ranger halted his advance and stooped over his wounded ally to drag him the remainder of the distance, making him a target for an instant. Without warning, a flurry of bullets rained down on them from above; the concentrated fire immediately shredding the unassuming feline to pieces.

Nick froze in his tracks as the shots continued towards his position, flying across the beach with lethal intent. With not a second to lose, he dropped low to the ground, covering his head as sand kicked up all around him.

"Go! Move!" The raccoon choked out between breaths, his words strangled by blood as the life slowly crept away from him. With his remaining strength, the wounded ranger surrendered his M1 Garand, skidding it away from his body.

Rising quickly from the ground as the fire subsided, Nick scooped up the rifle in his stride, unable to bear a second glance at the dead and dying soldiers beside it.

Ahead, a small rocky hill stretching the length of the beach emerged from the haze. "There's the seawall!" Finnick shouted. Topped off with barbed wire, it sat right at the foot of the bluffs, offering enough just enough cover to protect the soldiers beneath from the gunfire above.

Not waiting for anyone, Nick dove headlong for cover, flopping onto his belly at the foot of the seawall. Finnick took up cover shortly thereafter, spreading out near the base of the defilade. The ground beneath their bodies trembled as machine gun fire chewed the lip of the hill above, blasting sand and rock fragments down onto them. Shaken, the vulpine hunched over, curling his legs inward and hugging the firearm with his paws as enemy rounds poured in overhead.

Finnick carefully inched his way to his companion's side, crawling on his belly and not daring to peek a single hair of his over the seawall. "Wilde!" He howled, struggling to raise his voice over the chaos around them. "What the hell do we do now?!"

"What?" Nick lifted his head slightly, his weary eyes settling on the fennec as he peered out from behind his rifle.

Finnick slinked closer as bullets continued to rip the edge of the hill. "I said what the hell do we do now!"

The fox stared, the gears in his brain beginning to rotate back to speed. "We need to get this draw open!"

"That's a bright idea Slick!" Finnick snorted. "But I don't seem to have any bangalores on me."

"Don't be crass, you moron." Nick snapped, pivoting his body in the direction of the beach behind them. "Baker company's coming in on top of us. They'll bring the thunder."

The fennec, following his look, only shook his head. "Yeah, maybe. If they can make it down the ramps alive."

"Then I suppose we better make sure of that." Propping the M1 Garand up on his chest, Nick carefully drew back the spring bolt, checking to make sure that a cartridge was loaded into the rifle. It had been, and he released the bolt back into position with a metallic clack. "One clip or bust."

"Then you better make every goddamn shot count." Finnick replied as he turned towards the shore, watching as the floating boxes grew nearer on the horizon. "Second wave is fifty yards out. Get ready."

The red fox turned onto his belly and gradually began to inch a path up the seawall. Sliding the rifle slowly into his shoulder and resting his cheek gently on the stock, he moved the barrel though the barbed wire strung across hill. Nick steadied himself against the ground, maintaining rigidity as to prevent stray motion from giving himself away. He peered down the length of his iron sights, aiming into the dark space shrouding the bunker opening. The turrets inside the monolithic cement structure lay dormant; concealing themselves as they prepared to unleash yet another torrent of death upon the arriving company. Nick's gaze remained fixed as he dropped his index finger, curling it cautiously over the trigger.

"Ramps are coming down!" Finnick called out, the ground shaking as enemy mortars began falling onto the beach.

In that moment, a steady white flash ignited within the bunker, tracer rounds rocketing forth from the opening as they shot towards the unloading soldiers.

"Suppressing fire!" Nick shouted as he squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked back responsively as gas expanded out of the barrel, spinning the bullet directly towards the opposing muzzle flashes. In an instant, as quickly as it had roared to life, the machine gun fell quiet.

Finnick whirled around, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared upward into the dark bunker. The abrupt silence was deafening.

"Yeah!" The fennec cried, lifting both arms victoriously. "You sorry sonsofbitches! How's it feel to have 'em flying back at ya for once?!"

Sand exploded around them as the enemy gun ripped the air in reply, bursting to life as it homed in on the foot of the seawall. Nick yelped as he smashed his face into the sand, dodging bullets as they zipped directly above him. He pulled the trigger again and again, the rifle bucking back in his arms repeatedly as his shots chipped off the concrete structure. With a vibrant 'ping', the spent cartridge ejected from his rifle, twirling through the air before settling down next to him.

"I'm out!" Nick shouted as he quickly pushed himself off the slope.

Finnick huddled at the bottom of the hill, staring at his companion with an affirmative grin. "It'll do. Look!"

The fox turned his gaze out to the beach, his ears perking to a more than welcome sight. Dozens of infantry had filed out onto the beachhead, with countless more on the way. The few seconds of contention between Nick and the turret had bought them enough time to escape the confines of their LCVP's.

Deep inside the bunker, the first semblance of fear began to creep into the gunners. They sprayed down fire erratically onto the beach, struggling to push back the rapidly advancing wave. But for every unfortunate soldier cut down in the sand, there was always another ready to take his place.

One by one, the Zootopian soldiers began throwing themselves down by the seawall, taking cover under the defilade and regrouping. Finnick yowled as a large polar bear skidded up next to him, nearly crushing him against the rocky hill. "Delgato!" The bear called out. "Do you recognize where we're supposed to be?!"

"No idea!" A lion responded as he leaped for the seawall, crawling up next to Nick. "Have you seen Wolford? The lieutenant?"

The bear shook his head, tossing away an empty magazine from his BAR and clipping in a new one. "Wherever they are, they better hike up fast. We're losing space on this seawall."

"Get up there! Move your ass!" A desperate command resonated out from behind. The mammals swiveled their attention towards the beach, watching as both a jackrabbit and wolf sprinted through the oncoming gunfire. They flopped down at the foot of the defilade, pushing their bodies as far into it as they could muster.

"Well speak of the devil." Delgato murmured, smiling a toothy grin.

"Scoot over Snarlov, you fatass!" The lupine whimpered, dropping his bangalore torpedoes as he forced himself against the polar bear. "You're hogging up all the space!"

Snarlov simply snickered, tilting his helmet back with clear amusement. "Glad to see you too Private Wolford."

"Excuse me!" Finnick barked irritably. He always felt vaguely ticked off when larger mammals got too close. "Who the hell are you guys?"

"Baker Company, 116th Infantry." The jackrabbit replied sternly. Each of the soldiers straightened as he spoke, testifying immediately to the respect he merited among them. His fur was a deep charcoal grey, roughened by the tumultuous circumstances of the assault. He wore a large helmet over his eyes, with a long white bar tracked down the center to indicate his officer's status. "Who's asking?"

"Able, 116th sir." Nick spoke, causing the rabbit to turn slightly.

"First wave huh?" The lion beside them inquired. "Where's the rest of your company?"

The foxes exchanged glances with each other, taken aback by the sudden question. Until that moment, Nick and Finnick hadn't afforded the time or energy to acknowledge their casualties, let alone articulate just how severe they were. The polar bear lifted a brow. "Well..?"

Nick looked to his counterpart, uttering simply, "We're it."

The new soldiers turned their eyes upon the vulpine as he said this, quiet murmurs arising from within their ranks as they tried unsuccessfully to register the magnitude of such a loss.

"What are your names?" The lieutenant asked, breaking the short silence.

"PFC. Wilde sir." Nick replied. "The other fox is my friend, Private Finnick."

The rabbit moved his gaze over the two foxes, observing them for a few moments before settling on the fennec. "Where's your weapon private?"

"Bottom of the channel sir. Bitch tried to drown me." Finnick responded candidly, meeting his look.

"Right." The officer nodded slowly. "Delgato."

The lion reached obediently into his haversack, removing a stowed Thompson submachine gun and promptly pressing it into Finnick's arms. He then produced a clip and magazine for each fox to lock into their respective firearm.

"Private Finnick; Private Wilde. You're with me." The jackrabbit spoke, tapping a magazine three times against his helmet before racking it quickly into his M1 Carbine. "Welcome to Baker company."

A line of gunfire snapped violently across the top of the seawall, triggering a reflexive duck among the huddled infantry underneath. As space behind the defilade continued to dwindle, enemy mortars began to concentrate their fire on the densely packed troops hiding behind it. The ground trembled as each shell hit the beach, sending fragmented rock, equipment, and scorched tissue cascading high into the air.

"I think that's our cue Lieutenant!" Snarlov called out, edging his helmet down as debris rained over them.

The rabbit jerked back the sliding bolt on his carbine, pulling a round into the chamber. "Wolford! Bring those bangalores over here!"

The lupine complied, grunting softly as he lugged the tubular explosives into his arms. "Two bangalore torpedoes coming your way!" He inched his way out from behind the large polar bear next to him, crawling on all fours in the direction of his commanding officer. He halted his advance at the center of the formation, working quickly with his paws to assemble the cylindrical poles that would form the torpedo body. "Charges are wired!"

Even a polar bear of Snarlov's size couldn't dispute the destructive power of nine pounds of explosive amatol. He and everyone else promptly shifted to the base of the seawall as the wolf pushed up with the bangalores. Positioning the nose-sleeve carefully on the lip of the hill, Wolford looked back to the lieutenant for the order.

"Clear the shingles!" The jackrabbit shouted, bracing his helmet over his head.

The lupine quickly ignited the charge, thrusting it up into the tangled razor wire atop the seawall before leaping down the slope. "Fire in the hole!"

The earth quaked as the explosives detonated, the immense shockwave blowing the barrier apart and knocking the breath from the soldiers tucked beneath. Sand lashed down upon them, crackling as it struck the ground in innumerable large clumps. Nick lifted his head cautiously, gazing up at the smoldering gap where the wire had once been. The draw was finally open.

"We're in business!" The timber wolf cried, smiling gleefully at his work.

"Wilde, Finnick, Delgato, Wolford! Push up the line!" The lieutenant shouted, rolling onto his belly and pointing towards the towering German defenses. "Snarlov! Covering fire!"

The polar bear quickly shouldered his BAR, popping his head over the defilade before unleashing a steady burst into the bunker opening. Concrete fragmented in all directions as bullets abraded the interior of the turret box, kicking up dust with each impact. "Go!" He screamed. "Go now!"

Taking advantage of their window, the four soldiers quickly sprinted through the scission in the wire, charging towards the foot of the bluffs. Dozens of infantry filed in behind them as fire began pouring into the draw, shot down in a panic by several German troops above to cover their hasty retreat. But Finnick was having none of it. Ripping back the bolt on his Thompson, he returned fire up the bluffs, screaming wildly as he sprinted after the enemy.

Almost immediately, other bullets joined the fennec's in a rapidly growing wave of fire. It was as if he had flipped a switch diverting all rational thought in favor of pure unbridled rage. For hours they had been helpless to defend themselves or hide; subjected to unabashed terror, misery, and death at the claws of the enemy. Now they wanted blood. The wave of soldiers let out a deafening war cry as they stormed the German defenses.

Nick crested the bluffs, arriving at a lush, green landscape lined with sweeping fields as far the eye could see. Towering pillars of black smoke plumed in the distance, overshadowing the coastal defenses spread among the Norman countryside. Unmoved by the scenery, the furious soldiers behind the fox swept past, leaping into the German-held trenches and striking down anyone in their path. They targeted the fleeing troops without a shred of mercy, showing no interest in taking prisoners. The fox watched as the attrition unfolded before him; enemy mammals tossing down their weapons and holding up their paws, only to be cut down by a direct line of Zootopian gunfire.

To Nick, the experience didn't feel virtuous in the slightest. But after the horrors on the beach, he couldn't say he felt sorry for them.

"Wilde! On me!" Delgato called out, gesturing him away from the combat area. The vulpine promptly rallied where the lion stood, flanked on either side by Finnick and Wolford.

"Check weapons and ammo." The lion grunted as he locked a new clip into his M1 Garand. "Wolford, how're we approaching this?"

The lupine promptly produced his paws, clutching a fragmentation grenade tightly in each. "22.5 grams of starch nitrate should do the trick. Pull the pin, wait two seconds, then throw. We'll send someone in after, but it should clear out the nest without much of a fuss."

Finnick lifted his head. "The MG nest?"

"That's right." Delgato replied, taking a grenade from his counterpart. "Wolford and I will lob the grenades into the bunker since we have the furthest reach. Finnick, I need you to watch our flanks to make sure we aren't sideswept." He then looked down at the red fox, sizing him up. "Wilde, You're on point."

Nick shuddered at the thought but nodded in compliance.

"Alright." The lion spoke, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "Finnick, you're with me. We're going right."

Wolford looked to the red fox, shrugging lightly. "'Guess that means we're going left."

Light flickered from the entrance of the bunker as both parties approached, the muzzle flashes projecting elongated shadows of the combatants onto the concrete outside. Wolford and Nick moved quietly from one side of the doorway as Delgato and Finnick moved up on the other. They pressed themselves firmly against the wall as the lion and wolf prepped to launch their lethal payload through the bunker opening. In perfect synchronization, they snapped the pins from their grenades, silently counting two seconds before rolling it into the structure. A short yelp of alarm emanated from the interior, followed in quick succession by two muffled blasts.

Nick armed his M1 Garand, pointing it downrange as he stepped cautiously into the dark enclosure. The stark odor of singed fur and gunpowder tingled his nose as his pupils adjusted to the lighting. Inside, three soldiers lay slumped against the ground, their corpses pocked with fatal shrapnel wounds as blood pooled around them. The machine gun rested quietly above them. Its muzzle glowed fiery red, so hot that the steel barrel threatened to melt under the intense heat.

'click'

Nick spun around, rifle raised and finger on the trigger as every hair on his body stood on end. He looked into the corner of the bunker, settling his gunsight on a trembling figure shrouded in shadow. It was young snow leopard, and he was aiming a Luger right at the vulpine's chest.

The feline pulled the trigger again, causing the pistol to click emptily, and Nick to jump back with an instinctive gasp. Not taking chances, the fox aimed down his M1 Garand, and squeezed off the trigger.

Not a sound. Nick tried again, applying a bit more force. Still nothing.

He looked up. "Oh no."

The leopard snarled, pouncing from the shadows and flinging Nick's gun away with a single swipe of his arm. He tried to run for the exit, but met only the floor as the feline tackled him, locking both paws around his throat. Nick began clawing, kicking, and flailing his body helplessly as he fought for breath, the color draining from the world around him as darkness encroached the edges of his vision. He felt as though he was again being swallowed by the sea.

A greyed out flash pervaded the darkness, followed immediately by his assailant's paws gone slack. Nick heaved a massive breath, coughing violently as he rolled out from under the feline. He coddled his neck gently, panting and waiting for everything to gradually return to focus.

He could hear someone approaching slowly from behind, the footsteps stopping just over him. Nick looked up, examining the hazy person above him. It was the lieutenant. He carefully stowed his Colt 1911 in his belt; the muzzle still smoking from recent use. "Snarlov, go get him some air."

Next to the Lieutenant, a large polar bear lumbered into view, snagging Nick by his dungarees and pulling him out into the light. Nick huffed as Snarlov deposited him onto a small grass patch outside the bunker walls. The fox rested his eyes, slowly regaining his breath. "What was that all about?" The rabbit inquired from behind.

"Gun jam." Nick groaned. "The usual."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Fit as a fiddle..." He chuckled. "Thanks for the assist back there, even though I had it under control."

"Oh don't mention it."

The fox opened his eyes gently and looked up. Where he had expected to find the lieutenant, he instead found a pair of vibrant purple eyes staring back at him. The coarse black fur had softened, revealing a lighter hued grey, prominent black eyelashes and a pink nose. This officer was definitely female, and furthermore, an attractive female.

Nick blinked, checking to make sure he was registering his surroundings correctly. "You'll have to pardon my asking SIR. But, just who the hell are you?"

"Hopps." She replied softly, removing her helmet and setting it over her knee. "First Lieutenant Judy Hopps."

At least his suspicions were confirmed. He was dead. Because there was no way in hell his senses could have possibly eluded him for this long, and this significantly.

"I see..." He gulped. "Excuse me for a second miss." Nick flashed a quick grin, politely ducking his muzzle into some tall grass before retching violently into it. The nerve had finally caught up with him. He vomited for a full sixty seconds, his body shaking as he struggled to purge his system of the stress coursing through his veins. He wiped his mouth. breathing heavily as he returned his gaze to her.

"I-I'm sorry Judy. It's just been a long, long day."


End file.
